1. My friend Di informed me that she can’t visit this blog at work because it’s been blocked. They think it’s PORRRN! Finally! Someone saw through my foul-mouthed mom blog façade and revealed the real ping-pong skilled me!
2. I watched The Bourne Ultimatum the other night right before I went to sleep and then had the most intense dream in which I drove in reverse while holding a handgun big enough to snap my wrist. Last night I pored over Eliot Spitzer’s hoochie hoopla including the girls who can charge up to $31,000 a DAY! Sadly, I did not dream about prostitution. Was my subconscious telling me that there’s no way I could charge for these goodies? I guess so. It’s the same brain that holds a memory of this hot guy I thought was mustering up the courage to talk to me at a bookstore but he was only standing there because my five foot nothing body was blocking the nonfiction shelf.
3. After I had read about Margaret Seltzer and her fake gang memoir, I wasn’t shocked that she didn’t look like she had a gangsta past (No teardrop tattoo? No Bone Thus-N-Harmony references?) but I was stunned that it was her older sister that blew the whistle. Why isn’t that part of the story? I doubt I would ever tell on my siblings, unless one of them lies about how my makeup resembles Bonnie Tyler at the 1984 Grammys. In my defense, my cosmetic teachings came from my mother’s copy of Color Me Beautiful, a book that fooled me into thinking that with enough blush ON MY FOREHEAD I, too, could be a winter.